Over Spring Break I tried out for a new marriage reality TV show called "Who Wants to Marry A Bachelorette I Think Is a Millionaire but Really is a Transexual Convict with an STD in America." It was such an amazing journey, and I discovered so much about myself, and the world, falala.It was a once in a lifetime experience, fa la. . .
Gag me.
If one more reality TV show reeking of the old, new, borrowed and blue is vomited into my lap by television networks, I will join a cult in which marriage is transplanted by group devotion to Martians, and chug laced Kool-Aid.
After watching "Married by America," and hearing that a new show called "Who Wants to Marry My Mom" is a step away from the bosom tube altar, I realized that the matrimony meets voyeurism meets Satan concept has no boundaries and scoffs at shame. Just check out some current shows being ushered down the aisle:
"Married by France": A snooty, 90 pound Frenchman with a pinstripe mustache and a beret decides who marries whom as he smokes and sips coffee. When Pierre calls a zaftig Midwestern bride-to-be a "stupeed fatty" on the first episode, she cries a single harrowing tear and he chortles. When the audience begins to boo, Pierre states that he would rather eat a croissant than choose her husband. "You zink I care? HuhHUH."
"Pin the Tale on the Groom": five-year-old children at birthday parties are blindfolded by zealous brides and spun around til they giggle before being hurled at a line of groom fanny. After buttock cheeks are tagged for better or for worse, everyone celebrates on the slip-n-slide.
"Joe Convict": 25 hopeful women compete for a millionaire bachelor's pocketbook -- I mean heart. They contend for a millionaire's heart. Little do they know the supposed millionaire is actually a convicted felon and former Cash Money rapper. An astute gold-digger/free spirit searching for love grows suspicious when Joe uses his salad fork for his entree and calls the Eiffel tower "gangsta."
"Why Don't You Marry It": A game show hosted by Louie Anderson, in which contestants win prizes like cars and lifetime supplies of beanie weanies by buzzing in and crying, "I love it!" to which Louie and the audience scream, "Then why don't you marry it?" The contestant then has a choice of either wedding the inanimate object or replying, "Why don't you make me?"
"Polygamy is Cool": 25 hopeful women marry an old school -- cough -- mildly offensive stereotypical conception of a -- cough -- Mormon, and move onto a farm where they milk cows, make babies and refuse to pay taxes.
"Married to God": Young actress/model types vie for God's hand in marriage as they strut their stuff in habits and squared-toed sensible shoes while competing to become a full-fledged nun in a convent. Whoopie Goldberg hosts.
"Married to My Job": Frazzled, middle-aged stock brokers with wild eyes and throbbing temples star in a show where the only proposal being popped involves an elaborate series of memos (foreplay...meow) and business mergers (self explanatory).
"Merry Christmas": Puns are delicious. Mmmmmmm.
As you can see, the marriage reality TV show is quickly becoming a genre unto itself
and is muscling out other reality fare. I want to see girls in stiletto heels, a leather bra and a golfer's hat cover a Celine Dion song in front of Paula Abdul. I need to watch seven pairs of silicone yaboes and steroided pectorals stop getting polite and start having sex. I gotta view Southern fried homemakers and bar tender/actors subsisting upon rice and their own bodily organs on an island while fighting for immunity in bikinis.
ANYTHING but Trista lapsing into baby talk on Channel 6 while Evan impersonates a lobotomized gorilla on Channel 9 in the name of finding a husband and wife. I mean, that's like a monopoly -- right? Give me $200 and the utilities if two of my basic cable channels are going to go Lifetime on me and show montages of chapels, bouquets and diamond rings. On second thought, forget it. Just pass the Kool-Aid and find my mother a husband.
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